


The Price of Duty

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, FWB Katt, Hints of Pining Keith, M/M, Prince Shiro, Retainers Keith and Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 11:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: The monotone drone of the councilman leading today's petition has Keith seriously considering the pros and cons of stabbing himself in the thigh just to have an excuse to be anywhere else.





	The Price of Duty

The monotone drone of the councilman leading today's petition has Keith seriously considering the pros and cons of stabbing himself in the thigh just to have an excuse to be anywhere else. Ten paces away Prince Shiro doesn't look much better, what with the subtle fluttering of the muscles around his left eye and the ominous creak coming from the table beneath his silver grip. The councilman is lucky enough to be in front of the most patient regent this side of the Altean river and oblivious enough to ignore all the signs that the statement may not be true for much longer.

Keith, however, is not the most patient regent in the land. He's not even the most patient retainer to the Prince, despite being one of his most trusted bodyguards.

But right now a quick glance around the room to Sers Griffin and Kinkade prove that his liege doesn't need him here, not really. He tests the waters with a shift in his stance, scuffing slightly as he edges a hip toward the door and draws the Prince's gaze instantly, one silvery eyebrow lifting just a hair. Keith lifts his own back, flicking his gaze to the other two and back to the self-replenishing windbag still yammering about the proper shade for some such festival drapery.

Shiro's lip pokes out, just the tiniest hair... just the slightest shade of a pout on an otherwise serious and attentive face.

Keith pretends not to see it.

He clicks his heels together at attention, delivers a curt nod to the rest of the room when a dozen sets of eyes settle on him. Shiro looks resigned as Keith offers a half bow to his lord with just the shadow of a wink as he straightens and spins on his heel, striding away as officially as possible like he just received an urgent summons - half the keep is certain he has telepathic powers of some sort anyway, might as well use it to his advantage.

He's barely made it down the corridor before a familiar grinning figure waggles fingers in his direction, pushing away from the stained glass window they'd been leaning against.

“Finally break out of there?” Matt sidles up to him, plucking a wrapped tart from his pouch and offering it to Keith. “I heard today was festival planning.”

“Is that why you abandoned your duties?” Keith grumbles as he accepts the apology tart, popping it into his mouth without bothering to ask what might be inside. Matt shrugs at him, still smiling as Keith licks the crumbs from his fingers and eyes his lack of armor. “Where did you get off to?”

“Official summons from the Lair, Ser Nosy,” Matt teases and flicks at Keith's arm as they walk in step down the stone corridors. “Pidge needed an extra hand this morning to do the cranking on her new engine.”

“And you're the most experienced at that motion then, Ser Handy?” Keith's sly look draws an indignant huff and a flush to Matt's cheeks as the man scowls up at him.

“You would know better than anyone,” he grumbles, shoving at Keith's side.

He gets a wide grin in response as Keith inclines his head in agreement.

“I should hope so, what with Ser Lance being your only other potential suitor.”

“Potential suit- _no,_” Matt sputters, looking at Keith aghast. “Absolutely not.” He shudders and stomps ahead, ignoring Keith's laughing at his back as he changes the subject. “And you would know where I was this morning if you ever made a habit of checking in with Coran before setting off to your post.”

Keith shrugs, long legs easily catching and meeting Matt's stride once again. “Seems to me that my place is static at my Prince's side, everything else is secondary.”

“Oh, is that right?” Matt can't pass up the opportunity to snipe as they turn into the courtyard. “And where might our Prince be now? Shouldn't you be roped to his back making lovesick faces all afternoon?”

Keith's own eye begins to twitch, but he doesn't take the bait.

“Ser Griffin has the room covered, he's always been more of the type for drapery and fine linen, my presence is better used elsewhere.”

“Ah yes,” Matt hums in faux thought, fingers cupping his chin as his eyes dance. “The great Ser Keith, personal bodyguard to the Prince, most useful swiping a horse with his brilliant accomplice and abandoning his post for the day.”

Keith sniffs at him as they enter the cool darkness of the stables, holding a hand out for one of the apples he knows Matt keeps stashed away.

“It's a scouting endeavor, Holt.” He jerks his head toward his own red mare and the placid dappled gelding next to her. “You would do well to get a ride or two under your belt before you're needed to reinforce the northern lines come raiding season.”

Matt scoffs but plucks two apples from his bag, offering one to Keith and one to the gelding.

“They wouldn't send me to the front, the innovations coming from the Lair would grind to a halt without my steady hands.” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis, showing off a significant lack of calluses but more than enough scraped knuckles to make up for it. “Besides, who would keep you in check?”

“Shiro, of course.” Keith laughs as he leads Red from her stall bareback. “Who else can do it now?”

“Hey,” Matt grumbles, tacking his steed and following him out. “I think we've been a good influence on each other, wouldn't you say?”

Keith turns to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at his friend.

“A fortnight ago we nearly razed the barracks when your heel caught the lantern.”

“Firstly-” Matt raises one finger as he hauls himself into the saddle. “That was your fault, I can't be expected to control my limbs when you've got my hair like that.” Keith smirks, but nods at him to continue as he vaults onto Red's back, much to Matt's lusty annoyance as he raises another finger. “Secondly, we put it out before anything happened.”

Keith twists further in the saddle to level him with an unimpressed stare.

“It caught the blanket on fire.”

“Which you put out-”

“Only after you finished, heedless of the imminent doom.”

Matt can't hold back his snicker as he urges the gelding into a trot toward the gates. “What can I say, a man must know his priorities and hold them dear.”

Keith barks a laugh behind him, clicking his tongue start Red forward. “As honored as I am to be considered a priority, next time you can ride out your release empty and let me douse the blazes you start.”

“I have been told I am the cause of frequent blazes,” Matt winks and gestures to himself. “The loins, the Lair, the ladies...”

“Your hound doesn't count,” Keith teases as he passes by to flash Shiro's sigil to the gate guards. “The bitch only loves you because you feed her.”

“It worked with you as well, didn't it?” Matt pats his pouch, still crammed with tarts, and wiggles his eyebrows. “You've certainly gotten fatter since coming into my care, and only half as feral.”

Keith snorts, eyes rolling. “I think a starving child would look fatter after a decade of regular meals regardless of who was sneaking sweets into the barracks at night.”

“But it was me,” Matt grins up at him, kicking the gelding forward to catch up to Red's brisk pace. “I was the sticky-fingered lad who introduced you to sweet rolls and Hunk's tarts, I think I deserve some love.”

“Of course,” Keith sighs as he tips his head back to enjoy the sun on his face. “It wasn't Shiro and his insistence on bringing the runts of the litter into his service... it was you and your stolen treats.” He cracks an eye open to cast a fond grin Matt's way. “I think I've loved you well and often enough to have paid my dues by now.”

“Interest is a fickle bitch.” Matt clicks his tongue as he shakes his head. “You'll be indebted to me for the rest of your days I'm afraid.”

“Ah, usury...” Keith clutches at his chest and slumps forward over Red's neck. “Subtle as a shiv to the gut and twice as deadly.”

“Nobility's weapon of choice.” Matt winks and tips his chin up, face going haughty. “Mustn't let the peasants eat too much or they'll revolt.”

“The only thing revolting in this kingdom is your face,” Keith drawls before slapping the rump of Matt's gelding, sending him flying down the well worn path to the brook just on the inner edge of the Prince's forest. Red takes off after him, needing to win the impromptu race she's decided they're in as Matt shrieks and flails, clutching the reins in his fists.

“This is not relaxing!” He howls as Keith tears by, grinning like a madman and spurring the gelding to chase. “I'm going to die!”

“You won't!” Keith calls back, knees clamped tightly to Red's flank as he twists to flash a grin at his terrified partner. “You can't collect your debt in the afterlife.”

“Bastard,” Matt growls through clenched teeth as he clings for dear life to the neck of his steed. The animal seems to know the path, or at least knows what's good for it as it pounds down the pathway chasing the mare and her equally spirited rider. He doesn't stop clinging until the gelding slows itself to a trot beside the brook where Keith has already turned Red loose to graze in the dappled grass.

“Took you long enough.” Keith smirks as he pries Matt's fingers off the reins and helps him down.

“Fuck you,” Matt grunts, steadying himself on Keith's firm biceps as his wobbly legs accept their survival of the whole ordeal. “If Red isn't one of Sleipnir's brood I'll eat my scabbard.”

“Better set to chewing,” Keith teases as he secures Matt by the hips. “Only four legs on my girl.”

“That we can see,” Matt grumbles, letting go to brush the leaves from his hair. “And to think, I was going to share the rest of my tarts with you.”

Keith's grin goes sly as his fingers give a little squeeze. “Why would I want those when I have my favorite tart right here?”

“You-” Matt sputters, cheeks blooming under the charming assault. “Is that flirting? Did someone teach you how to flirt?”

“Only if it's working.” Keith swoops down to steal a kiss before pulling away, eyes flashing with mischief. “I was looking forward to the tart with the cream filling today.”

“Oh lord.” Matt drags a hand down his face and fixes him with as flat a stare as he can muster in his current flustered state. “That was terrible.”

Keith pouts, tugging him closer by the waist to press them together hip to chest.

“What if I just ask my favorite retainer to help me settle my debt?”

“That could be arranged,” Matt responds, breathless as a smile blooms across Keith's face, unable to stop himself from leaning up to taste it. Then it's a whirlwind of buckles and straps coming off, official tabards discarded in the grass as freckled skin is revealed inch by sun-kissed inch. Keith lays him back in the grass, setting to work on creating a trail of inky bruises that stretch from the clasp of their matching cloaks to the tender skin on the inside of Matt's thigh.

“What else do you have in that bag of yours, Matthew?” Keith mumbles against spit-slicked skin, glancing up through his lashes. “Something a little more damp than tarts, I hope.”

“With you around?” Matt huffs, reaching out with the hand not tangled in Keith's hair to dig for the vial he keeps on hand – to polish his sword of course. “I'm not making that mistake again.”

“We could've improvised.” Keith's words are playful as he licks at the head of Matt's cock, swirling his tongue around the tip before giving it a peck. “You know I don't mind your mouth.”

“Oh, how accommodating of you,” Matt pants, biting his lip to stifle the little needy noises trying to come out. “I know how hard it must be to accept a mouth instead.”

“Oh, it's hard.” Keith gives another teasing lick as he plucks the vial from Matt's fingers and coats his own. “But I've sworn an oath to my brothers in arms, and I won't let them down.”

“Your dedication is admir_-ah-_ble,” Matt chokes as Keith pushes inside with his fingers, searching immediately for the spot that renders him useless and pliant in a way little else can.

Soon Keith has him singing, sheened in sweat in the afternoon sun, muscles lax and ready as he slicks himself and lines up.

“Matt.” He reaches up to cup a scarred cheek, brushing the long sweat-damp hair from Matt's eyes. “Eyes on me, soldier.”

Matt blinks up a him, needy and flushed as his chest heaves. “Yessir.”

Keith quirks a grin and pushes in inch by inch, enjoying the way Matt's eyes flutter shut as his mouth drops open into a soundless cry. He savors that moment, the only time of day Matt is properly speechless beneath him before those slim hips start to roll, impatient to be used properly.

And use them Keith does, rolling slow and hard in torturous strokes that leave Matt clawing at the grass beneath them, head thrashing as he begs for more, faster, _anything._ It's a fruitless endeavor of course, years of training with fists and blade giving Keith the advantage of muscle despite his deceptively wiry frame. He keeps his partner at his mercy, winding a hand into his hair to bare the long column of his throat, a canvas to litter with bite marks and other bruises just too high to hide properly. In short order Matt's begging for release properly, babbling pleas as he's being split open on Keith's cock, eyes damp with overwhelmed tears.

“Shhh,” Keith croons, pressing a kiss to bitten-red lips. “Don't I always pay my debts?”

And then he's wrapping a hand around Matt's neglected length, slicked with pearly liquid as he tugs him to a crescendo of bliss that splatters them both up the chests. It's enough to draw a grunt from Keith's own throat as he presses in deep and shudders inside him, dropping to his forearms as Matt's trembling legs fall away from his hips.

“Add that one to the ledger,” he groans, tucking his face in Matt's neck as he catches his breath. “That was worth at least two, I think.”

A pointy chin digs into him as Matt nods and drags a hand through dark locks.

“That's worth a baker's dozen of sweet rolls for sure.”

Later, after another round and a dip in the brook to wash away the worst of the mess, they slink back into the keep - pointedly avoiding eye contact with the skinny guard who clicks his tongue at their state of utter dishevelment. By the time Keith slips back into the audience chambers the petitioner's have dwindled to a mere handful, all appearing to be lulled into a trance by the continual droning of the councilman, who is somehow still speaking. Even Griffin is staring at the sword strapped to his thigh, as in contemplation of how best to run himself through to escape.

Shiro appears to have aged at least a decade.

Keith lets the oaken door clang shut this time, heels clicking smartly on the stone as he paces to the table's edge and bows.

“My Prince.” He keeps his tone serious, face turned away from the councilman as his eyes dance. “Your presence is needed immediately.”

Shiro scrambles to his feet in the least regal display Keith has even borne witness to, and he has to stifle an equally ungainly snort from escaping.

“Good sirs, I thank you for your time today.” Shiro inclines his head toward the room, the face of a benevolent ruler plastered on. “I apologize for the interruption but I am needed urgently, we shall reconvene to finish this tomorrow.”

The councilman frowns. “Sire, I am unavailable tomorrow and will have to send another member in my stead.”

The joy in Shiro's smile borders on inappropriate.

“A pity... I bid you well.”

They swirl out of the room in matching cloaks, steps hurried as they share the glance that is their undoing. They can only hope the ensuing giggles don't echo too far down the corridor as they race up the steps into Shiro's solar and throw themselves on the blankets piled there.

“Thank you, thank you, a thousand thank yous_,”_ Shiro throws himself at Keith's feet and clings to his knees. “You have no idea what it was like to sit in there all day and listen about curtains... curtains, Keith!”

“Oh, I have some idea.” Keith grins, hauling Shiro up and manhandling him back onto the blanket pile. “That's why Matt and I left.”

Shiro heaves a sigh, flopping backward and knocking his crown to the floor.

“Take me with you two next time?

Keith can only be glad that Shiro isn't looking as he feels the heat bloom in his cheeks. He traces the long lines of muscle hidden beneath so many layers of silk and leather and smiles to himself, considering.

“Perhaps, Shiro. Perhaps we will.”


End file.
